


Mirror, Mirror

by KDblack



Category: MORFOSI｜莫法西
Genre: Doppelganger, Jon is mentioned but not actually here - Freeform, M/M, Metamorphosis, Other, Psychological Horror, but viewed from the inside, selfcest? kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDblack/pseuds/KDblack
Summary: “Timothy... the power of Morfosi... has been awaiting you...”
Relationships: Timothy/Lord Morfosi | Timothy
Kudos: 7





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I remain personally attacked by [Dino999z](https://twitter.com/dino999z) and [UniDot Studio](https://twitter.com/unidotstudio).

Ever since he touched that first sickly green gem, Timothy's felt like he's in two places at once. Part of him wanders the halls of the manor, listening for the wet smack of movement, trying not to breathe too loudly. The rest of him – he doesn't know where the rest of him is.

It's dark. It's very dark. The ground under his feet is soft and unsteady, like he's walking on water. When he stretches out his arms in front of him, he feels nothing but a vague, damp pressure. His skin prickles under the weight of unseen eyes.

“Hello?” he calls with his second mouth, even as the first stays safely shut. “Is anyone there?”

He's not expecting an answer, but a split-second later, the darkness fills with soft laughter. Sound washes over him, brushing his hands, his legs, his face like fingers. He stumbles back and tries to cover his head. It doesn't help.

Someone is calling his name.

 _Timothy,_ the darkness laughs from inches away, _the power of Morfosi has been awaiting you._

“What the hell!” Timothy screeches. Or tries to, anyway. The ground shifts underneath him as something steps closer. The words get caught in his throat.

There's someone with him in the dark. But no, Timothy realizes, there isn't. The figure standing in front of him is himself. For a moment he sees triple: the hallway, the dark, and his own wide-eyed face. Then he blinks and the moment passes. He's two again. 

The mirror image is still there, smiling faintly, hands tucked into his pockets. Timothy breathes in shakily and tries to look a little less like he's about to cry. He can't break down now. Jon needs him to be strong.

“Who are you?”

“I think,” his doppelganger says in a crisp, slightly foreign accent, “that you know the answer to that.” That voice sounds strange to Timothy's ears – the same kind of strange that comes from listening to yourself speak on a recording. 

Timothy's always hated that, if he's honest. Recordings almost make his voice a little too high, a little less expressive, a little more dead, and all he can think is 'do I really sound like that?'

The doppelganger cocks his head, letting black strands fall in front of blue eyes. “I'm afraid you do. Don't fret so. It will sound better when you're more confident.”

A lump forms in Timothy's dry throat. “What are you?”

That smile sharpens. “You know the answer to that, too.”

“I don't.” It comes out too fast, too hard.

“How odd,” his reflection says, still smiling. “Well, give it time.”

“I don't have time!”

“Of course you do.” Suddenly, the doppelganger is right in front of him, close enough that Timothy can feel its cold breath – can feel its cold hand tight around his chin. “Why else would you be here with me?”

Both of him jerk back. The Timothy in the hall trips loudly into a wall and has to run. The Timothy in the dark is distracted enough by the feeling of movement that he doesn't realize he's still trapped for several seconds. Then there are freezing lips on his and all the thoughts drain out of his head at once. In the hallway, he's still moving, still running, still searching for a hiding place, but in the dark everything is still. No breath. No movement. Just two mirrors overlapping. Two reflections reflecting each other, forever.

There's something thick and sour flowing into his mouth. It tastes the way he imagines hell would look. It's not good, but he can't fight his doppelganger's crushing kiss.

No. He doesn't want to fight it. 

Because...

Because he is...

The first Timothy has found a chest. Now both of him are in the dark. That helps. His doppelganger breaks the kiss, and that helps more. Timothy gasps for air with two mouths as his reflection watches, infinitely amused.

“I must admit, I didn't think you'd last this long. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

 _I'm not,_ Timothy thinks, but what comes out his mouth is, “Jon–”

“Of course,” the doppelganger says soothingly, chilly fingers rubbing little circles into Timothy's jaw. Has his skin gotten colder? “I'd tell you not to worry, but it wouldn't work. You're afraid for him. You're afraid of him. You're afraid of everything.”

There is nothing kind in that gesture, but Timothy can't make himself retreat from that touch. He tries. It doesn't work. The world sways as his knees wobble beneath him. His face is getting numb. “I'm not... afraid... of ev'rythin'.”

“Yes.” Cold, cold fingers brush back his hair and then sink smoothly into his scalp. He can feel them rooting around in his brain. Taking what they like and stripping everything else. Stepping between the two of him so smoothly, a pitch-black curtain behind which nothing can be seen. The Timothy in the dark twitches and gasps, helpless in the grasp of something that looks like him, sounds like him, should be him – but isn't. The Timothy in the chest blinks, confused, and opens the chest. He shakes his head once, twice, and starts walking again. Something hard and heavy sits in his chest. His teeth itch. None of that matters compared to his bright feelings for Jon - and the fear tangled up in them which drives him deeper into this crumbling hell.

The boy left behind in the dark moans faintly as his stomach begins to churn. With its free hand, the doppelganger strokes his back in a parody of comfort and slips smoothly through the skin. Its whole arm vanishes inside him, a freezing cold lump reaching for the sickly-tasting power sitting in his gut. It's his. It shouldn't be. He coughs and coughs, but he can't get any of it out.

“Settle down,” says a voice that isn't his. “You'll be happier when you aren't jumping at shadows.” There's laughter then, a carelessly cruel noise that stabs into his ears. He's never sounded like that, except late at night, when his own face haunted his nightmares.

“Stop,” rasps the boy in the dark, but it's too late. The hands have reached his heart. He is already forgetting what it was like to breathe freely. The boy in the hallway seems impossibly far away. 

“I can't,” Morfosi lies.

The boy who used to have a name that wasn't Morfosi wants to laugh, too. He can't. All that comes to his lips are three disconnected words, spoken far too late. “I've... only ever...” 

Cold, cold hands pull him closer. Dark water closes over his head. In the seconds before he drowns, he finishes that thought in a head that no longer belongs to him.

_I've only ever been afraid of you._


End file.
